Paranoia and Her Gun
by Xan the Great
Summary: ... being the story of a pathological band of assasins and how Chix Verbil got mixed up in it all. [[ Chapter 2 up! Please R&R ]]
1. Prequel

**Disclaimer:** Yeah. I own Artemis Fowl.  
  
Well, not really. I lied. Lol, Please don't hurt me . . . cower Let me say it straight out: I do not own Artemis Fowl or the characters in this fic, except Hanna Chlora, Mandal Birini, the LEBI (equivalent to FBI, etc.), and all of it's affiliates.  
  
Basically, if you don't recognize it, it's mine.  
  
**A/N:** If you're about to flame me for mary-sueism, give it till the next chapter- if by then Hanna Seems the MS type, I encourage you to flame me. -

**Paranoia and Her Gun**

_Prequel: Leaving St. Frond's_

The loss of his beloved flight ability had a profound effect on Chix Verbil. He believed he had lapsed into a profound depression.  
  
Writhing in violent physical agony in a St. Frond's (A/N: excuse the lameness of the name) Hospital bed seemed to attract the sweet sympathy of some very well endowed female nurses, which barely lightened the private's spirits. They were easy prey. For him, that is.  
  
And then he'd been discharged quietly from the hospital when Warlock Dr. Tantalum had realized that he'd actually stayed a week and two days after he was healed. The doctor had assumed that Chix had stayed to remain in the company of his nurses, which, any other time, would have definitely been the case. But Chix Verbil had other things on his mind at the moment. He was shamed to show his face in the LEP Reconnaissance offices, particularly Captain Holly Short's office . . .  
  
So now the private was leaving. Finally. He'd tried to feel relieved, because he knew he should, but it seemed impossible; He'd never fly more than a few feet off the ground, and he'd disobeyed a higher officer's direct orders resulting in a life-death situation for both himself and Captain Short. But he couldn't cower in St. Frond's forever, right . . .?  
  
Not unless he could fake off something like a surgical obsession.  
  
Hmmm . . . Maim his handsome face or face his pretty captain . . .  
  
He increased his pace, suddenly wanting to put a vast amount of space between St. Frond's and himself. He wandered on for about half an hour, not really going anywhere; only meandering aimlessly, drifting lazily from one thought to another. Feeling for all the world like he'd been ostracized from society entirely. He ignored the giggling groups of pretty females.  
  
Several blocks later has passage was checked impetuously by a flimsy yellow tape reading "**LEBI LINE- DO NOT CROSS**" He was in a sort of stream-of- consciousness disposition, so he stood there, just gazing indolently at the apartment building, his hands in his pockets. The yellow tape was shimmering and flowing sluggishly in the artificial breezes that had been set in Haven.  
  
After a while, the heavy titanium doors slid open and a young elf with dark hair slipped out. He was laughing loudly at something unseen. He walked down the steps. Chix saw that he was wearing something like a shiny cat suit. The private couldn't make out what his badge said. The tall elf laughed unintermittedly, clutching the metal siding for support.  
  
"Agent Birini!" A grisly female voice shouted from inside the doors. It sounded like a fight, but her voice sounded amused. "Mandal!"  
  
A very flabby and frightened (Not to mention sweaty) looking gnome ran from behind the set of doors. He paused, hesitating for a single moment, but a moment too late. He jumped to avoid a scorch in the smooth pavement. Someone was firing from the set of doors.  
  
Then a simpering sprite (for at the time a sprite she definitely seemed), apparently the owner of the voice, bolted, flying roughly from the door, as if her wings were less than. She holstered what appeared to be a small neutrino and, not pausing, pulled the gnome convict to the ground. There was a struggle, but the gnome seemed to be tired out. The tiny sprite was walloping the gnome with fast adamantine like blows in the fat face. She and the dark-hair, apparently Agent Birini were some kind of officers, but if he'd seen them before, Chix didn't remember. The elf was still cachinnating loudly.  
  
"C'mon Chlora! You've clobbered me better than that!" Agent Birini shouted with a deep voice like his voice was hoarse. He pounded his fist, cheering the fight on.  
  
The sprite stood mercilessly, laying a few crippling kicks to the gnome's ribs. She was cursing freely, all the while with a maniacal beam stretching her lips. "D'Arvit!"  
  
A little pixie mother glared atrociously at Agent Chlora, covering her small son's pointed ears.  
  
The elf spotted Chix, and trotted over, still laughing at the fight, cheering Agent Chlora benevolently on over his shoulder. Chix stammered:  
  
"She's got a buzz baton, eh?" Chix gaped. "Why isn't she using it?"  
  
"Oh," Agent Birini glanced over his shoulder with a smile. "That's Hanna. She's . . ." He paused. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to use our detour . . .," He continued on, rambling about convicts and docked pay, urging Chix to move on. Something or other. Private Verbil caught a glimpse of Agent Birini's badge: **_LEBI_**, _**L**ower **E**lements **B**ureau of** I**nvestigation_ (A/N: that would be something to the effect of FBI, but I fiddled with new names to avoid being flamed.Again.)  
  
Private Verbil moved reluctantly on towards the East detour, peering oddly at the ferocious little sprite. Birini or Whatever was shouting:  
  
"Hit him with the trash can. Use the trash can!"


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Nope. Don't own anything but my characters. Hanna, Mandal, LEBI, etc. Don't own Clix, either. She's HermoineGurl's. Doing a character trade thing.  
  
**A/N:** Hope Agent Chlora's not a Mary Sue. Please help me if she is.  
  
.  
  
**Paranoia and Her Gun**

_AlterEgo 1: Agent H. Chlora, LEBI_

_Chapter 1: Hanna Chlora_"Hanna," Mandal Birini muttered, sleep layering his voice with a yawn. "Hanna . . . Get up." Mandal kicked Hanna Chlora's pallet on the floor slowly, still burdened with sleep and cloudy eyes.  
  
Agent Chlora muttered something in her sleep and rolled over on her side, trailing wrinkled blankets behind her.  
  
"Suit yourself," Agent Birini mumbled, hefting his LEBI bag and heading towards the door of the shabby apartment the two agents shared.  
  
Sometimes Agent Birini thought he only roomed with Chlora so he could be her wake up call. It never worked, however hard he kicked her. He should start charging, he thought.  
  
She slept like a dwarf on a coffee break.  
  
"Good morning," Agent Chlora's faulty plasma clock chimed in its mockingly happy tones, breaking the doomed morning silence.  
  
"D'Arvit, please . . . shut _UP_," she groaned into her pillow, wishing earnestly for a coffee. She flailed her aching arms in search for the machine.  
  
"It's 10:00 P.M. in Friday the thirteenth of--"  
  
Agent Chlora cursed vividly.  
  
The clock never had time to finish; it was now in several pieces on dirty rug.  
  
"BIRINI!" No matter. He had left without her. Again.  
  
The LEBI agent launched herself into motion, still cursing luridly at her partner. Being angry with Mandal Birini usually gave her astounding new adrenaline, so she practiced it often. She slipped out of her crumpled boudet, her eyes still shut tightly. She turned sharply, not realizing she was on a totally different side of the pallet than usual, and buffeted her crooked, long-since broken nose on the drab wall, resulting in a keen pain. She clutched her nose as she pounded the wall with her tiny rough fist. Served it right.  
  
At about a foot and one half tall, Hanna Chlora was extremely short—or vertically challenged, as she referred to it--, even for a fairy. It was a weakness to her, and she didn't take kindly to the subject. She didn't take kindly to much of anything. Agent Hanna Chlora's personality was . . . less than kind. It would be—she was half imp, half sprite. A bitter combination. She hadn't known her parents past the age of two years; she knew they were dead.  
  
Before their race had died out, imps had had dark, patchy, and unhealthy looking skin, unctuous blonde hair, and nasty dispositions. After years of slaver and malnutrition under the ancient Frond Dynasty, their height was severely limited; they were never more than a foot or so tall. They sported haunting, skeletal faces that seemed to repel anyone that saw them. The imps had been described as—and actually were—small peevish demons with smart attitudes, and were useless . . . Unless you wanted killing done. Imps were very, very good at this in particular.  
  
Their eyes were the most fascinating; two pools in the sunken faces, great watery reservoirs of memories. They were as grey as ash, and as dismal as the back of the moon. Despite the gelid colour, they were, if one really closely, as cool and thirsty as the heart of a flame.  
  
However depressing and boring the eyes were, they held too many great and terrible secrets. Imps had appeared shortly after The Book had been written, and the pupilary mesmer seemed to work on other fairies. As The Book had not mentioned anything against this, the imps used it freely (and actually very lawfully).  
  
As punishment for this, however, they were forced into slavery by the elf dynasty. Many escaped, or were let free. Too many.  
  
The Hunt followed, and as a result of this bloody event, the imps almost immediately died out. But several lingered, and they made it their mission to pass on their heir as revenge. In fact, several were thought to reside in the Lower Elements today.  
  
Well, mainly one . . .  
  
Hanna Chlora had spotty pale green skin. Her eyes were like two dismal grey moons, her ears embarrassingly long. Her hair looked out of place next to her seemingly sprite body. It was stringy, oily, and blonde. It looked as if she had hacked it off during her coffee break, which indeed she had.  
  
However, Agent Hanna Chlora was not a full-blooded sprite.  
  
She stumbled out of her pit of blankets she called a bed, and into the bathroom. Making a mental note to remind Mandal how to use the toothpaste tube properly, she freshened up as best she could. She didn't make a great effort either. Hanna pulled her LEBI suit on, still cursing graphically at Agent Birini.  
  
Upon stumbling up, she caught herself subconsciously using her eye mesmers in the mirror. Her eyes switched the mesmers on whenever she was angry, sad, or annoyed. They were hard to control. She closed her eyes, glad that this time she had caught the reflection before something had happened. Last time she had accidentally mesmerized herself with her eye's reflection. Agent Chlora had stood there an hour or so in an odd, unblinking trance; an unending staring contest with her own mirror image. Mandal had returned home, made fun of her, and pulled her safely away. Afterwards he had made some more fun. Hanna had set his desk aflame.  
  
On her way out of the door today, she wrenched the wires from Birini's electric shaver, revenge for leaving her behind. Ultio ultionis.  
  
She left, slamming the titanium door and securing it with the micro- key. Hanna hefted her heavy bag, throwing it over her sloping shoulder. She let it hit her thigh as she galloped, with a slight limp today, through the halls.  
  
"Mornin' Agent Chlora," The apartment building's friendly janitor said, tipping his raveled hat politely.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mo. I can't talk today, Agent Birini left me again." She zipped past the old pixie, giving him a salute.  
  
"That Birini, obsessed with that what's-it job of his . . .," Mo muttered, more to himself than to Hanna.  
  
Hanna's inadequate hybrid wings wouldn't carry her very high. The weight of the body bag (There wasn't a cadaver in it, or her victim's severed head, opposed to Agent Ecel's popular beliefs.) she carried burdened her further, reducing her flight to several inches about the tiles. So she floated roughly down the stairwell. She zipped through the lobby, returning to the ground, dodging pesky civilians, tourists, whatever; they're all the same. Bulky cameras swinging from their necks, forming in great herds . . .  
  
Agent Chlora paused in the doorway, peering with wide cautious eyes out into the big, wide, frightening world.  
  
It was not the Agent Chlora people at the office knew. If they had observed her horrible paranoia, her constant, checking glimpses, they hadn't commented on it. There was a reason Hanna's grey eyes swept the darkest corners, wandered the atramentous alleyways, glanced suspiciously at tourists.  
  
A reason few, if any, knew.  
  
No one was watching, no one was waiting. Hanna exited the apartment building swiftly, still glancing about, walking briskly, if not jittery and nervously. She checked the usual surroundings, analyzing every person. Were their eyes grey? Did they have blonde hair? Skeletal faces?  
  
Were they looking for her?  
  
Were they coming?  
  
Not today.  
  
Hanna continued, taking up a sort of canter – sprint, heading eastwardly towards the exerts of Police Plaza. After glancing up and down her route, Agent Chlora's paranoia had subsided somewhat. Somewhat.  
  
She could've sworn she'd seen something, heard someone calling, so she turned sharply, never slowly. And in that split second, she collided with something quite, to her, altitudinous.  
  
Before she knew what she was doing, Hanna's paranoia came rushing back. She drew her can of cheap pepper spray she'd been fingering, taking blind aim at where the perpetrator's eyes should have been. Should have.  
  
The sprite, for sprite it was (in fact, Private Chix Verbil, though Agent Chlora didn't know this.) screamed loudly, collapsing to the sidewalk on his knees, clutching at his eyes.  
  
"Oh, _D'Arvit_," Hanna hissed, bending down.  
  
Words mingled, mostly Hanna's (and those were mainly colourful curses.). Eventually she bent down, her greasy hair caressing her uneven shoulders. She tried to pull the sprite's paws away from his eyes, but he pulled sharply away at her cold touch, refusing her "sympathy".  
  
She must resort to dreadful measures . . .  
  
"_I'm sorry_," She hissed through clenched teeth.  
  
And suddenly the sprite was okay, absolutely fine, rising to his feet.  
  
He'd faked it. Synonym for lame? Is there a better word?  
  
"Ah it's alright. You missed anyway," The sprite said. He held out his gloved hand. Agent Chlora saw that it was a LEP glove. She rejected it.  
  
So this officer had faked pain, and then practically mocked her aim. Agent Chlora fumed inwardly, her eyes narrowing with uncontrollable mesmer.  
  
"I'm Private—_Hey!_ Where are you goin'?" Hanna had hefted her bag, and started back to work. She was late.  
  
"Away,"  
  
"But I didn't get your name!" Private Who-Ever-Who-Cares shouted through the throng of people closing in.  
  
"I didn't give it to you,"A/N: . . . Mary Sue? cower Please tell! PLEASE, PLEASE R/R!!  
  
Niffler 


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Nope. Don't own anything but my characters. Hanna, Mandal, LEBI, etc. Don't own Clix, either. She's HermoineGurl's. Doing a character trade thing.

**A/N:** Hope Agent Chlora's not a Mary Sue. Please help me if she is.

.

**Paranoia and Her Gun**

_Chapter 2_

Agent Hanna Chlora paused at the entrance to the LEBI office. It was a smaller, yet relatively tall building on the southern exerts of Police Plaza. Good. The LEP ordered them to build as far away as possible because of their creepy reputation.

LEBI were only the investigators of the LEP's past suspects/scenes. As soon as the LEP threw the cases in the "Case Closed" Trashcan, the LEBI grabbed them up like a hungry hobo.

From time to time the LEBI used the LEP's forensic labs, but not often. If they bumped into each other in the hall it would be the only time the two organizations made contact.

LEBI, since they never had any real cases of their own, didn't have much work. Therefore, there was not much pay. A lazy filing job; a lame, paperback sequel to the LEP Recon.

But years ago, Chlora had been in the LEP Academy line up. Too many cadets filled the hallways that year, and cuts were made. Hanna was one of them. They had told her "she had too much spirit." A shaky shot, inability to dodge slugs, and a bad record, even rumored to have imp blood, although the Council wouldn't admit to being _that_ prejudice. Mandal could have gotten in . . .. But he never even tried. He had gone straight to the LEBI. A fact that always mystified Hanna. Director O'Riley had welcomed Agent Birini with open arms into the LEBI. Hanna, having nowhere left to turn, reluctantly followed her friend. It was desperate times then.

So Hanna entered the world of society, even if she still was socially inept. She was an odd little creature and more than a little mean, so people in general avoided her. Fine by her. If you watched long enough however, you'd see that she loved no one but Mandal, and him only as a friend. Even if she wouldn't admit it. Still she loved torturing everyone with her creepy antics, including Mandal.

. : . : . : .

Agent Chlora slid her fingers into the print analysis security system, deathly aware of the germs crawling all over it. She would sanitize her hand when she reached her office. She thought this receptor system was overrated. Way too teched up for the LEBI. Like anyone would want to steal anything from the bureau. She slipped through the titanium doors.

Of course. Late, as usual. Perhaps if she were to sneak around, she wouldn't get caught.

"Agent Chlora!"

Perhaps not. Director O'Riley, or Agent O as the personnel had dubbed him, stepped from the shadowed foyer.

"Ah, Agent O'Reily. I was . . . I . . . Oh D'Arvit," Hanna hissed, her crumpled wings drooping to her sides. She noticed O'Riley's white crest of hair bobbing madly, quite like a cockatoo. A good joke butt had the situation not been so dire.

"'Oh D'Arvit' is quite correct, Agent Chlora."

Hanna sighed, reaching for the _mesmers_ in her pupils. Maybe it would work this time, though she had a feeling that O'Riley knew how to avoid them. Odd . . .

"Where were you?"

"Asleep. Birini forgot to wake me up, sir," She concentrated harder, leaning forward in her effort.

The pupils dilated so that the whole eye looked almost black. The dismal lithium irises swirled restlessly, getting smaller and smaller . . .

"Don't let it . . . happen again." O'Riley felt foolish. He fumed inwardly at himself, standing cross-armed in the stuffy lobby. He knew how to avoid them, those _mesmers_. He was one of only several of the People that did. To hold such information meant he could give her up to them.

...

Hanna dropped her pen on the file she had been writing in, spattering black ink over late Mrs. Soil's maiden name. She cursed under her breath as she ran gloved hands over her face.

This hybrid was not meant to be locked away in the tallest level of the LEBI building. It was squashing her soul.

She was hungry, too.

Agent Chlora slipped out of the swivel chair, glancing to the door of her shabby office to make sure it was secured.

There was a shady window on the east wall of her office. It was small in size; more for ventilation than for pleasure. However, Hanna had caught herself gazing out of it at times, and jumping from it more.

Her stomach protested glumly from hunger as she walked quietly to the window. Wrenching away the discolored blinds, she cracked it open. She hushed a cough. Ah! Fresh air. Well, fresher than her office anyway. She glanced to the pane of glass by the office door on the other side of the room, to see if anyone was out there. Agent Ecel passed slowly by, stifling a yawn and clutching a fat folder. As soon as he was safely out of the way, Agent Chlora pried the window open to its full extent. She hefted herself through the yawning window and onto the metal ridge outside.

She took a rather deep breath and dove clumsily from the siding of the building.

So she couldn't fly as well, or as gracefully as other full-blooded sprites. So what? So long as she made it to the ground. Preferably in one piece.

As she came close to the ground she floated in a drunken circle, then landed with a thump on the cement. She stood, dusting herself off. Her eyes flitted around the courtyard, looking for anyone that might be watching. But she walked on, though her eyes kept flitting nervously.

Several minutes later would find Agent Chlora slamming the flat of her hand against the glass of on of the vacuum vender machines. She cursed quietly and laid her forehead against the cool safety glass of the machine with a melodramatic sigh. This happened _every_ time; Her lichen chips had gotten lodged in such a way so that the vacuum completely missed them.

Her world came crashing down.

. : . : . : .

It was his lunch break, so Private Verbil tore his attention away from the surveillance duty in the pod at E37 (that was sarcasm), at which he'd been placed yet again, and took a gyro-cab to Police Plaza's cafeteria. It was Monday night, and if he remembered to bring the LEP update bulletin that was sent out every Sunday, he'd get half off of lunch. That, to him, was the sole purpose for the bulletin.

Never could one understand actually how boring being in a surveillance pod, and to make matters worse, with Grub Kelp, whom Chix suspected was gay, for five whole hours. And more to come. Food and women were the only things that shone light on his situation, and he could find both at the cafeteria.

Chix made his way slowly across the courtyard leading up to the cafeteria. He yawned and looked tiredly around, rubbing the sore place between his yellow eyes. Something caught his gaze, and his brow furrowed a little.

There was a small creature pounding the glass of a vending with her hands and growling angrily. Indubitably, the sprite thing was a female, so Chix walked up to it. Something about the air of frustration around the creature struck the private as familiar.

He got close enough to the vending machine to see the reflection of the vexed fairy in the safety glass. He glimpsed her eyes first, which were indecipherable between pitch black or lithium white. Either way you went, they were a bit alarming.

"Hey," Chix began, running a hand through his hair. Something about this girl attracted him to her. She wasn't pretty, and her eyes weren't big and blue like Lili Frond's, but something about her distant eyes allured him. "Aren't you that lady who attacked me today?"

The bleached face in the reflection showed no sign in change of emotion. She turned on her heel to face the private. Well, not really faced, as she was a bit on the short side. Her underdeveloped wings rose her quickly so that they were face to face. Chix peered into drab glaring eyes that he still couldn't distinguish between black or white.

"Yes. And I suppose you still want my name?"

Chix ignored that. Instead he handed her something.

"You dropped this," He croaked flatly, his dry lips curling into a smile. He saw a momentary flash of something in her lithium colored eyes, the maniacal false luster that veiled them; made them seem more appealing than they really were. Private Verbil didn't know yet, but there was a pestilential secret that lay hidden in the depths of those lucent eyes.

"Oh," She muttered dryly. Her hand played fondly over the can of pepperspray, as if she'd found an old friend. "Thanks."

Chix reluctantly broke eye contact, giving the stubborn machine a little shake, which caused the lichen chips to jump free. Hanna was quick to snatch the bag up.

"Thanks," She said, then turned to leave,, but Chix laid a hand lightly on her shoulder. She shrugged it off with a scowl that made her eyebrows almost touch. The maniacal glint returned to her eyes.

"I'm Chix Verbil," He nodded his head towards the huge LEP building. "I'm a private, up at Recon. I used to be a luteniant, , but now I'm --"

"Please spare me the history lesson, Mr. Verbil, because, frankly, I couldn't care less."

The remark barely stung Chix at all, he'd heard much of that sort from Captain Short.

"Sorry," He laughed a little, running a gloved hand through his dark green hair. "So," He looked around, and saw that sprite-looking fairy was ready to leave. "What do you do?"

"Well, let's see. I do what every other normal fairy does. I get up late, I go to work late, I get yelled at by my boss, I sit in my office pretending to be working every time he walks by--" Chix gave a hearty laugh, but could tell that she was telling the truth from the stony study etched upon her face.

"No, really, what do you do . . . you know, as a job?"

"I work at that building in the back that none knows about. The LEBI." She sighed. Actually, Chix did know of that place. Commander Root had sent him to do some filing there once. And the other day his sister had mentioned something about the LEBI, but he hadn't been listening.

"And your name is . . .?" Chix prompted.

Hanna left without another word.


End file.
